


You Got Me

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bottom Harry, Erythrophobia, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Older Louis, Original Character(s), Pining Harry, Slow Build, Top Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:36:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "I'm.. afraid of blushing, actually” Harry says, opting for honesty. He had never told anyone that, because it was kind of awkward and made him feel so small. “It's a weird fear, I'm sure, but … its one of those weird phobias I've been trying to deal with.” Louis doesn't seem all that surprised, but he gives the boy that half-smile and continues to try to work out chopsticks, eventually giving up and getting a plastic fork from the bag.He feels uneasy until he asks if he avoid it, and Harry automatically say he doesn't.“How?” He asks Harry, mouth full. He giggles at him, then bite his lip from nervous habit. “I'm here, right? You make me blush, but I'm here.”That makes him smile and I'm a little bit humiliated that Harry said something so forward, so he duck his head a little in embararssment.“But I avoided everything for a long time,” the curly boy uttered lowly, picking at the nail polish once more. “especially you.”An Au where Harry has a rare condition called erythrophobia, fear of blushing. Louis seems to make everyone just a little bit shy.And once they meet, things are not going to be the same.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 10





	1. Love is Fear

Love is Fear.

Maybe Harry is not like most people, but maybe he is. There are some people who revel in their own misery; they live for it, they breathe for it. Those messy-eyed artists with their dying selves and cheap cigarettes enjoy nothing more than their own self-loathing. Too-thin girls pinch their waning bodies with that treasured feeling of disgust. But not him, he hates feeling this way. Its just easier to be like that, so he didn't have to try so hard.

He's just deathly scared of pleasure, or pain, or embarrassment.

People noticed a problem in about kindergarten, when the teachers and classmates tried to throw him a birthday party. His mum brought in little cupcakes that she made herself, blue and green frosting and rainbow sprinkles. The whole class made him a card, each child placing their signature on the bottom of the yellow construction paper in various types of magic marker. Any other kid would have jumped for joy, hugged their mom, ate the cupcakes. He peed himself, crying and trembling, rushing into the corner of his cubby and refusing to come out. Because he was scared – because he was blushing.

There were so many misdiagnoses, so many mispercieved issues. They thought it was a social anxiety disorder, maybe a fear of public speaking, maybe selective mustism (Harry rarely talked or laughed), maybe hedonophobia (fear of pleasure, which is a part of it), maybe major depressive disorder. But then, after test upon test upon psychologist's office, they were only able to come up with a single and sound answer; erythophobia.

Fear of blushing, plain and simple. Of all of the lame phobias to have, God picks that out of his bag of tricks and awards it to Harry.. Blushing – you must think its a joke, right? But its so much more than that; He's scared to laugh, or be happy, or be touched, or be loved. It strikes Harry with panic when he thinks of someone else giving him something, or making him smile. Its also just his luck that his face turns red at the slightest jog, the faintest hint of embarrassment, the thought of something dirty. Maybe it sounds crazy, but this guilt and fear seizes him; everyone must be watching him - they think he's so girly, such a fucking freak. He can't –he won't.

Its driven him to isolation, a small face in the back of the class, the unsmiling and forever silent child. They've tried everything, from medication to DBT therapy, to mindfulness practices, to hypnosis. The whole thing for him has grown into a social phobia, even a fear of pleasure, a fear of teenagers, a fear of the world. His doctor and therapist try pretty hard though, and he can't really whine about it.

Its worked fairly well, to the point where he can do a few things, but not much else. They've told him to take pleasure in simple things, because its okay to have a flush in your cheeks. It doesn't feel okay though, when you're stuck in a high school full of people who stare, and gossip, and hit, and have vials of evil shoved down their throats. They know he's gay the second the red hits his cheeks. They know he's weak, all of Harry's insecurities fall plainly onto his face. The only thing that makes Harry sick inside is falling in love, or thinking of sex. Twice the shame fills his veins when he thinks about it with boys – because really, that is all he'd ever wanted to experience.

But his friends are beginning to expect more from him, and they're on the end of their ropes. That feeling of dread on holidays, the constant shaking, the horrible nausea … its only reduced to a certain degree; his family want more his friends need more, the world expect more from him. There's one thing they haven't tried; exposure therapy.

Sometimes Harry wish that he could be a little less honest with his doctor, Helene, but she has this crazy way of making him tell the truth. She owns a lie detector, and she loves to use it – He didn't even think that was legal, but sure enough, with his mum's consent and a paper for 'medical research', he became a little lab rat to her. He loves Dr. Helene, don't get him wrong, but he wish she'd let him lie sometimes, maybe just cut him a small break. But Last week he was shaking so hard and blushing so furiously at Charlotte's house that he had to find a quick exit out of the window and back to his house, which made his mum all worried and brought him straight here. And he doesnt want to tell her, but the red light is flashing, and she knows he's lying, so he have to tell her;

It's Lottie's brother that makes Harry blush.


	2. Fear is Desire

Fear is Desire.

  
The late January air is killing Harry's skin, and all he want is an ice cream. He was pressed up close against the brick wall and eats, hands shielding against the harsh sunlight. Taking a small lick slowly, letting the mint choco chip infiltrate his sweet tooth.

  
School is a shithole to him, for so many reasons. Since he hates being anyone, his class participation is always at a minimum, Never do anything involving a presentation, and if a teacher so much as tried to call on him to answer, he'd stutter so badly that no one could understand him. He's a geek, and he doesnt even have the good grades to boost him up. Just a failure, plain and simple.

The moving between classes is an even larger mess of hazards; dropping the papers could mean the end of him, tripping and falling just seemed so inevitable. Lunch was history, unless Charlotte was there, her quiet awkwardness balancing Harry's. Sometimes Charlotte's so sassy he'd blush for her, and that's never good.

  
He finished his ice cream and walk to his car in the parking lot. Putting his bag in the trunk, slam it down, then get in. He really like to drive, its soothing – just get in the car and go, there's no one watching. The music is loud and he can talk to no one at all, and laugh, and feel uninhibited by anyone. Turning on some old punk band, he began to drive home, making sure he didnt make eye contact with any other drivers.

As Harry drives past the intersection, his phone vibrates. Now, he knows that there's that whole thing they do in Driver's Education about never, ever checking your texts while driving, but he always do. He's a smartass teenage know-it-all, so of course he's going to check his phone. Its Lottie, asking him if he can maybe spend the night, seeing as how it's Harry's seventeenth birthday on Friday, and its kind of a big deal.

Harry is about to text back “yes” as he pulled into his driveway, but his hands freeze on the keyboard. Louis was going to be there – shit, how could he have forgotten this? He bites his lip smoothly. If he didn't go to Lottie's it would mean eating out with his mum and his cousins, which is a sure-fire way to embarrass him in some cruel and bizarre way, which would in turn make him blush and … either way, he's fucked.

Sometimes he feels like people think that blushing is just blood flowing up to your cheeks, but it isn't. Blushing is never just blushing; its vulnerability. Its always in response to something, it always reveals your secret thoughts - it makes you small and open. All he wants to do is keep to himself, and yet his body betrays him, always. Harry doesnt want to show anyone he is scared, or that he is angry, or nervous, or that he likes them – and yet, his pink-tinged face reveals all. So a blush is always more than a blush – its a response to a question, its a statement on its own.

And he really, really don't want Louis to know a thing about him.

He get into his house with the key, and its empty. Harry's dad died when he was eight, and ever since then its been just him and Anne, his mum, and he didn't mind it. Sometimes they would miss his dad, but it was just an old, empty space in his stomach – a throbbing that just became like the beating of his heart, he was so used to it. But he liked being home, because it was really blush-proof – it wasn't like his mum was going to walk in on him having sex or anything, so there was no issues there. He's a fairly boring and surprisingly unhappy kid, so he doesn't get into much trouble.

Staring at his phone, his brain's gears click and whir and he contemplate all aspects of the situation; Louis Tomlinson or total humiliation from the females of the Styles family. Easily, Harry would choose the Styles, because that's safer – he's used to that. The British idioms, the tearing up about his age, the meaningless and feminine gifts (thanks for the airplane pendant, Aunt Georgia!). But here's the thing that's been bugging his ever since he saw Louis; he wants to see him again.

Harry does not want to blush again, and he doesn't want to have a nervous breakdown, and he doesn't want to knock over their pottery vase again, but he just wants to see him. He's the kid that everyone at Chesire still talks about like he's Jesus or something – graduated two years ago and people still have 'Tommo' written on the bathroom wall like he'll see it one day. Sometimes Louis still hits up the high school parties, but its rare since he just got back from University in Manchester, transferring to London for a gifted program. Personally,Harry doesn't know someone who parties that much is able to even hold a pencil straight, but Louis manages – he snuck down into Louis' old room, and those paintings still haunt him.

Nobody knows this, but Harry have been wanting to talk to this guy since maybe freshman year. It was because Louis was this spontaneous, untouchable senior with everyone at his feet, and there was … Harry, the quiet boy in the back that couldn't look you in the eye. Louis had everything that Harry wish he could have; the confidence, the crazy antics, the vocal talent, the respect – and, most importantly, the pale cheeks. Louis William Tomlinson did not blush; everyone blushed around him. He was such a legend that people didn't even care that he was sleeping with guys and girls on a regular basis – in fact, kids thought he was twice as cool because of it. Imagine; someone who can party, do well enough to please the parents, and have a ton of sex, be respected even though they're different, do a lot of drugs; its literally the teen dream, right?

But Harry saw so much more than that.

Because he read all of Louis' songs, and knew his drawings, and he saw the troubled pieces of him that most people didn't. Harry spent enough nights at Lottie's house to hear the boy break things down below, to hear the fights he had with people, to know that everyone loved him but nobody really knew him. And what Harry would give to know him. But he's a coward, and a loser, and a beet-faced kid that hasn't got a chance, although all he do is hope. Whenever he get that chance, he peeks through his scrapbooks, his pieces of memory, his pictures that told Harry the things words couldn't. He was Louis' biggest fan, and he doesn't think he knew his last name.

But God, Harry wish he did, and he feels brave, and he knows Anne will be kind of pleased, so he send three letters back; “y-e-s”.


	3. Desire is Want

Desire is Want.

Harry is sitting in Doc Helene's office and the noise maker is on, small ocean sounds cascading in the background. She's seated easily at her chair, and he's on the couch, her hypoallergenic poodles resting on his lap. They're therapy dogs, but he's not sure the difference between them and a normal poodle, minus the fact that they get cool vests.

Sometimes he wish that he could just stay here a while and sleep away all of his problems, because it's warm and nice and it smells like tea. But he will not go to sleep, and I can't ignore his problems – at least, not today. She's scrawling notes down about him, marking his progress in dealing with a phobia almost thirteen or so years in the making.

“Tell me about your day” She asks, brushing the brown hair out of her eyes. Harry immers in uncoiling his fingers and recoiling them around the dog's thick fur, liking the way they snuffle under his touch. Brooke was the more fun one, in his opinion, but he likes to cry on Samantha. God, he had been in this fucking place for too long. “It was the same as always” he mumbles, bored.

She writes something down on her little pad of paper, which make Harry rolls his eyes. They've worked together so long that they weren't even on a patient-doctor level – this woman was like a goddamn second mother, she was so nagging.   
“You're going to go to the sleepover on Friday” She states flatly, looking him dead in the eyes. He sigh and flop onto Samantha, completely disinterested – who says sleepover, anyways? “Yeah, whatever. Mum won't make me.”

“Its part of exposure therapy, Harry. We can do this the easy way, or we can just make you embarrass yourself in public” Helene taps her pen onto the vinyl. Part of him wants to yell at her, and then kick a wall. Does anyone realize that it's more than fear, no matter how badly it seems to have consumed him? Does anyone understand that he doesn't feel anything; that he's numb? And scared, and stupid, and lonely? He can't afford doing exposure therapy – or anymore therapy, for that matter. Harry wonders what this woman sees in him sometimes, and if she's known him so long that she forgets the other problems. She asks him more questions, and he gives her more monotone answers, because he lacks the energy. When she gives him a disappointed look, he would tell her about how he fell in the supermarket to make her feel like Harry made some progress.

But if he went to another therapist that knew nothing of his phobia, Harry would tell them this; that he didnt do anything wrong because he's too damn tired. Harry would do something wild if he wasn't so apathetic. He's so tired of being this person so much of the time; he didn't classify himself as introvert. If someone could give him a chance to shine, he would, but he can't stop holding back.

He went home at five and think about how crazy Friday is going to be, knowing Louis is there, and the thought of it makes that dreaded flush spread through him, which in turn fills him up with such discomfort and panic that he have to calm himself, taking deep and slow breaths. But that day just plays over and over in his head, and although he hates to think about times he blush, this memory is permanent and stuck inside of him.

Harry was sat down on Lottie's bed when Louis stumbled in, shirtless and half-asleep, asking for a lighter. His body tensed in embarrassment when he realised Lottie was downstairs, and that he was alone with Louis Tomlinson, and he didn't even know he was there. When Louis realized it was just him, a slow smirk spread onto his tanned face and he leaned against the dresser, while Harry's body began to tremble and shake as he felt the heat rush to his cheeks. Breathe in, breathe out. The older lad took him in for a second, as if he had forgotten him and was getting reacquainted with Harry's body. A shiver raced through the younger as he silently begged to not blush, not now, not at a time like this.

“Harold, long time, no see” Louis said, then began to rummage through Lottie's drawers in search of a lighter. Harry gave a shy nod and felt his veins constricting in fear as he tried to stop the pink from entering his cheeks, trying to think of monotone things to make it stop. 

  
_He's going to think I'm so gay, and so lame and just like everyone else if I start blushing; he'll think I'm just another fan girl, I'll be so indistinguishable, he'll never like me; why can't I ever just play it cool?_

  
Harry reached into Lottie's bag and handed him the lighter, fingertips catching on fire when his skin hits Louis. The older lad gave him a small 'thank you' and was about to turn around before he walks towards Harry, like he was going to to hug him or hit him, but he never got a chance to find out.

Stepping back quickly, Harry knocked over a small vase that Lottie had in her room, a sort of fifth-grade art masterpiece that she never threw away. It fell onto the ground and cracked, loud and unnerving. 

  
“Shit, love, easy there!” Louis bawled, immediately stepping away in order to avoid getting cut by the jagged, broken edges. Harry can feel the flush burning its way up to his cheeks, like vomit crawling up the throat. Trying to suppress the oncoming rush, he breathed in deeply, letting cool air in through his mouth. Louis is looking at him like he's a freak as he tried to avoid that which scares him most, terror seeping through his marrow. 

  
_Just stop, please, God, make it stop_.

  
His body began to shake and he wanted to get out of there, out into the cold wind, where his red cheeks will disappear forever. 

  
“I … sorry, I've got to go home” he excused lamely, then step over the broken pottery and to the door, opening it. Harry heard him laugh behind him, then he felt two pairs of hands on his hips.

“I'm not trying to scare you, sunshine!” He said, half-smiling at Harry. “At least help me clean it up” 

  
Harry trailed his eyes over to the mess, and he just wanted the older lad to leave – he never liked leaving messes, but he needed to be able to breathe. “I'll just do it myself” he whispered, feeling like he was going to break out in a cold sweat from the paranoia of his own face.

Waltzing over to the pile, Louis began to pick up the pieces, putting them into a small trash can under Lottie's desk. “It'd be my pleasure” Louis said lowly, looking up into Harry's eyes, that permanent smirk glued to his face. Holy shit, he had to get out of there. 

  
Another gulped for air, Harry turned, ran down the hall, and escaped out of the back window. Honestly, he can't remember the last time he ran that fast because of his mild asthma, but he got to his car in about three seconds flat, then sped his way home.

In his room, during the quiet of the late afternoon, Harry can't stop kicking myself, because he probably made himself seem twice as awkward. Lottie just kind of laughed at him, but Louis … he had the power to do really anything he wanted. Because..Louis fuckin Tomlinson, owns everyone asses and … he's just Harry the Unwanted Styles. Just his luck.

And he can't explain why, but all he keeps on thinking is how he can make himself seem cooler come Friday.


	4. Want is Hope

Want is Hope.

  
“You're gonna hate me” Lottie says as they got into Lottie's minivan, fingers nervously toying with the keys. Harry gave her a dirty and inquiring look – she usually never said things like that, so it must mean that something is up. Taking a long and deep breath, she grabs a bottle of beer from the backseat and gives it to him, then starts up the engine.

“I invited a few friends over. They're mostly Louis's friends, but …” Harry's jaw drops, nearly hitting the floor. The last time 'a few kids' came to the Tomlinson's home, all hell pretty much broke loose – there were girls vomiting in the driveway, guys smashing glass on the front lawn. He thinks he stayed home that night and watched Friends, so he just heard about it at school. Surprisingly enough, Lottie is kind of popular, in a weird “praise the geek” kind of way. People just respect her music and enjoyment of arts and crafts.

Nearly downing half of the beer, although quite frankly he prefer something much sweeter, he feels the anxiety creeping up to his bones. “Haz, we can like, go do something else and sleep at your house or something, I'm sorry – I just wanted you to have a good time, you're so shy and -”

“Its fine, honestly” he assured, putting a smile on. “Thanks for making my birthday special, Lots” She takes her eyes off of the road momentarily to grin at him. This girl is his best friend, how can he just sit there and be whiny when he's sure she went through something big just to do this for him. He secretly is thanking God that he actually is wearing nice clothes today, and that his jeans aren't just filth from the bottom of my laundry bag. Just as long as he won't do something embarrassing, Harry's okay, right?! It just seems like its going to be a blush-sensitive though. But then again, Louis probably won't pay much attention to him if his friends are there.

Why did that make him upset?

The party is already wild by the time that they get in, kids drinking and hooking up and getting a little too wild under the usually clean roof of Lottie's house. He's already pretty tipsy, being such a lightweight, so his nerves were dulled somewhat. A loud roar is coming from the speakers and the whole place smelled of booze – hope that goes away by the time Jay gets back, or they're fucked. Even though its his “birthday party” people don't take any notice of him for the most part, seeing as how he hardly know them at all.

Harry's eyes are scanning across the room and he sees him, looking cozy next to a hot young blonde girl, her violet streaks and nose ring reflecting in the light. There's a slight pinch on a heart string as he have to look away, disappointed. He's just a kid, let's get honest. There isn't any way he can blame him, either; she is pretty and he sleeps around. Figures.

Lottie and him split up, she's running to his new boyfriend, and me running to the kitchen. Harry liked drinking in any social situation when possible – although it made his cheeks flushed, he couldn't really tell anymore, and it gave him that hitch of confidence he needed. Pouring out rum and coke, he takes small sips, knowing that too much more might mean him getting sick on their floor.

“Hey, are you the birthday boy?” A low voice asks me from behind, a finger poking at his back. Swiveling around, he dimly remember this gorgeous and ragged looking guy as Louis's dealer back from sophomore year – he came over and witnessed a, well, transaction, if you will. His eyes are wide and brown and he looks a little like a murderer, but maybe I've watched too many horror flicks this week. He's looking at him in this way that makes him cringe, feeling a little bit too exposed in my comfy Pink Floyd tee but way-too-tight pants. He nods meekly, taking a large gulp from his red plastic Solo cup. He grins at the curly boy, brushing the hair from his eyes. “You're Harry, I've heard so much about you from Louis.”

_He talks about me? _

  
Harry nearly choke on this, then feel that hated redness on the verge of breaking through. Putting his drink down, he push past him, realizing he left his inhaler in his jacket. “Sorry, I have to go grab something” he excuses softly, glad to think of something to leave and get his thoughts together. Resting up against the counter, the man grins at him, teeth exposed. Harry prefers Louis's baby ones. “I'll be waiting for you”.

Beelining towards the closet, he swing it open, revealing two teens, both extremely preoccupied with one another. “Shit, sorry” he appologized, then grab his coat. His stomach hurts as the blush threatens again, and he silently beg myself to stop. Turning around, he bumped into someone – God, can his luck really get much better than this? He's about to apologize, but he stopped, realizing that the lean body he's up against is none other than Louis.

“Happy birthday, Hazza!” He says, easy smile on his face. The stupid grin on his face seems permanent, and Harry just nod. Louis must think he's so stupid, but he's just distracted by how pretty the older lad face is. Shifting on his feet, Harry is suddenly glad that he's properly buzzed, because otherwise he'd be such a stuttering wreck. 

  
“You look … beautiful” he says, liquid courage full and daring in his bloodstream. Louis gives him a weird look then laughs, obviously aware of his current state of being.

“You're pretty beautiful, too, love” Louis says, then fishes into his pocket. “Here, I got you something” his face lights up as he hands the younger a small box, wrapped in old textbook papers.

  
'thank you', he muttered and the other shrugs his shoulders. Its no big deal of course, because he is Louis Tomlinson , and he can just do that shit and its alright. He owns the whole damn world, this guy, including Harry.

He's trying to consider if hugging is appropriate, but that girl starts whining his name, and he turns around. “I'll be seeing you later then, Harry” He says, affectionately ruffling the boys hair. Harry watched him walk over to her and his heart sinks a little, then rises up to his throat. Whatever, he thinks, as she throws herself into a hug. At least he got a birthday present.

The brown eyed ax murderer walks up to him only seconds later, two drinks in hand. “Forget something?” He says, handing the younger the drink. He gave him a sorta-kinda thankful smile and then take his cup, downing half of its contents before he can even really think. “This tastes off” he complained, looking into the cup – its still rum and coke, but it tastes like there is chalk or something in there. The man frowns and continues drinking his mystery drink. Harry continued to inhale his Solo cup until its empty, then bite the edges of the plastic until it breaks. Nervous habit – he used to bite his nails, too, until his mum started making him wear bright pink, foul-tasting polish from the store. He still have to wear it sometimes, its so embarrassing. Can't they make more respectable colors for the nail biters?

This guy is rambling on about his new band, and how he really thinks they're going to make it, and then something hits Harry. Not knowing what it is, but he's pretty much floored to the ground like a truck just hit him, or Lottie's minivan, or a jumbo jet maybe. The room begins to spin and nausea takes a hold of him, making Harry shudder underneath it. He asks to sit down and the man complies, they're both finding space on Jay's loveseat. The younger lean forward, both hands on his temples, fighting off the urge to faint or vomit. The other lad, Zayn, doesn't seem to notice as he starts talking about maybe going somewhere more private, where maybe they could talk some more and …

“I didn't know you guys were friends” Louis's voice pops into the haziness of his beating consciousness. Harry feels the murderer jump in surprise, and he finds the willpower to look up. Maybe he does look kind of sick or something, because Louis's face turns from one of masked anger to one of genuine concern. Kneeling down, he lifts the boy's face with his hands. “Why are his pupils so dilated?” He spits, casting Zayn an angry glare. “What the hell did you give him?”

Now he's aware that he's been drugged and waves of panic rush through him, and he feels like slipping into sleep, face leaning into Louis's bony shoulder as he whisper-fights with what he's now understanding to be his ex-dealer. Now, he's picking the curly boy up with both hands and yelling at people to go home. “Party's over, trashbags, its time to get out”. Girls and guys whine playfully, and Louis uses his charisma to convince them that Zayn Malik's party is going to have free weed, so they clear out pretty fast.

Maybe he's dreaming, but Harry hear Louis takes him down to the room, saying some quiet reassurances to Lottie before he goes to bed. “I don't think its that strong, but this is Harry we're talking about – total light weight … Nah, he'll be fine. Just go to sleep, I've got him”. He's got him. Mumbling out a string of curses, Louis starts fumbling with Harry's belt buckle, then slides off the pants. The younger thinks he'd care more, but his eyes are closed and he's in such a daze that nothing could shock him up to this point. Louis puts him underneath what he assume to be his covers (they smell so much like Louis ) and he kisses Harry's forehead as the latter drift off into nowhere. “Happy birthday, Hazza” He whispers, tucking him into the covers.

_Yeah, I'm thinking as I feel his body next to mine, it is a happy birthday._


End file.
